Busy Busy Busy

Gramma,

It's been crazy busy around here.  Dave took last week off to gather his wits for Union negotiations this week.  Mostly, that involved sitting on the patio drinking, stewing and putting words on paper that he wanted me to reconstruct.  If ever I was to apply for a job, I would put down Union Interpreter as one of my talents.  This involves translating Fuck You, You Fucking Fuck Fuck into something more palatable for management. 

On Friday, we took off for a three day weekend with the bike club.  We put on about five-hundred miles total, looping through the backroads of Wisconsin farm country.  The ditches were full of wildflowers.  Hay being baled is one of my favorite childhood smells.  The corn looks good this year, a little ahead of the "Knee High By The Fourth of July" rule. 

Amish people were farming with horses. We gave a wide berth when passing horse-pulled buggies.  The slowest McDonalds on the planet was on our route.  Some Amish people left with enough food to for the zombie apocalypse.

The bartender at one stop had on bib overalls.  I got lumpy Spotted Cow tap beer at another bar.  After dumping two glasses, I asked for a bottle.  I do not drink warm beer.  Back at the dive motel, we did our serious drinking.  Some of the guys had noisemaking fireworks.  Surprisingly, we have never been kicked out of a motel.  On occasion, the police have shown up to our campsites.  Outrageous stories are told and legends are made. 

My daughter and her guy friend arrived late Sunday.  Guy friend's name is Aashkahn.  I call him trashcan.  They are here for a week.  We have been hanging out, drinking and laughing.  They don't get up until around two.  My schedule is off until after the Fourth.  Stories to follow.